


Always With Us

by CelestialVoid



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Amputee Stiles Stilinski, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Claudia Stilinski Feels, Cora Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Dead Claudia Stilinski, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Movie Night, One Shot, Painting, Prosthesis, Short One Shot, The Hale Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 03:43:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18380264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialVoid/pseuds/CelestialVoid
Summary: Stiles got a new prosthesis, but it doesn’t feel right; it’s not him.





	Always With Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loveyProphet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveyProphet/gifts).



> This is part of an AU that the wonderful LoveyProphet came up with nearly two years ago, you can check it out here - imagine-sterek.tumblr.com/tagged/amputee!stiles (sorry, links aren't working).  
> Quick synopsis: Stiles was in a car crash when he was eight years old, he lost his leg and his mother.

When Stiles was eight years old and given his first prosthetic leg, he had tried so hard to keep it clean.

For a long time, he had trouble adjusting to the reality of losing his mother and his leg. It was only made harder knowing that he had a prosthetic leg that looked as fake and ugly as it felt.

His dad let him paint the next one however he wanted. Stiles painted it green with sprigs of lavender and tall white hyacinths – his mum’s favourite – that rose from the joint of the ankle and flowered across his calf.

His last prosthesis had been painted orange with vines of blue forget-me-nots and lilies of the valley—which he had been told meant luck and humility, two things he showed when he survived the car crash—painted on it.

Lydia had lectured him relentlessly about how orange and blue weren’t a good combination, but Stiles didn’t care.

He didn’t care about the comments that were made when he wore shorts, but he did care about the prothesis, especially when Jackson tried to fuck with it. He and Scott were on the field during a free period, enjoying the first sunlight they’d had for weeks, when Jackson dragged his keys down Stiles’ leg and learnt very quickly just how scary Stiles can be.

Stiles spent that night fighting tears as he tried to patch up the paintwork on his leg, knowing they couldn’t afford a new one yet.

They had saved up for years to be able to afford his new leg. But staring down at the awkwardly tanned skin-tone plastic, he felt the same way he had when he was eight; this wasn’t part of him. He was broken and ugly.

“You can paint it,” his dad said, reading the look on his son’s face.

“Don’t have paint,” Stiles said, trying to brush it off as if it were nothing.

“I’ll pull some money out of our savings,” his dad offered. “We can go and buy some paint tomorrow before I start work.”

“No,” Stiles said, shaking his head. “It’s fine, Dad. Really.”

John opened his mouth to say something when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” Stiles said, hurrying to the door. He pulled it open to see Derek standing on the porch, wearing his favourite black leather jacket and a backpack slung over one shoulder. Stiles’ brow furrowed with confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“Cora said you got your new leg,” Derek said.

Stiles nodded.

Derek held up his hand, showing the handful of paintbrushes he had taken from Laura’s studio—obviously with permission.

Stiles couldn’t help but smile. He took a step back and nodded towards the hallway, beckoning Derek inside.

“Hello, Sheriff,” Derek said as he stepped into the lounge room doorway.

“Hi, Derek,” John greeted. “What are you doing here?”

“Cora said Stiles finally got his new leg,” Derek repeated. “Laura let me borrow some of her paints and brushes so Stiles could paint it.”

John’s weary face relaxed, a smile lifting the corners of his lips. “That’s very nice of you all.”

“I’ll find some old newspaper,” Stiles said.

“You can sit in the lounge room,” his dad offered, standing up from his favourite chair. “I’ve got to get ready for my shift. You can have a movie night if you want.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Stiles said, pulling a weeks old newspaper from under a pile his dad had left on the side table.

“Before you start, go get your old leg from upstairs,” his dad said. “You’ll need something to walk around on while that one’s drying.”

“Right.” Stiles hurried upstairs.

Derek waited in the lounge room doorway as Stiles hurried back down stairs, carrying the orange and blue leg.

He set it down by the couch before settling down on the floor between the couch and the coffee table. He spread out the sheets of newspaper, some plastic cups of water and paper towels, and got everything ready.

Derek set his brushes down on the table and dropped his back on the floor by the couch, unzipping it and pulling out the wide variety of paints Laura had loaned him.

“What are you thinking?” Derek asked.

Stiles pulled his prosthetic off and set it down on the table, eyeing it up for a moment. He screwed his face up in thought. “Indigo, with purple and white chrysanthemums, a few of those white violets that have deep blue centres, and some teal, blue and purple leaves to fill in the empty spaces.”

Derek read the labels on the tubes of paint, picking out the colours Stiles would want: indigo, violet, teal, black, white, and every shade of purple and blue he could find. He set the others back in his bag, clearing the table.

Stiles unscrewed the indigo and poured it out onto the newspaper, passing Derek a brush as they began to paint it.

“Did you know that chrysanthemums are the official flower for Mother’s Day in Australia?” Stiles said quietly. “In China, they’re traditionally given to the elderly since they symbolise long life and luck in the home, and in Belgium and Austria they’re for memorials.”

“How long has it been?” Derek asked, guessing where this conversation was going.

“In two weeks, it’ll be ten years,” Stiles said, biting into his quivering lip and blinking back the tears that welled in his eyes.

Derek didn’t say anything, he just reached across and set his hand on Stiles’.

“I’d give an arm and a leg to have my mum back,” Stiles said. He gestured to the scarred stump of his thigh. “I already made the down payment.”

“Stiles,” his dad scolded.

“What?” he called back. “I have to joke about it; it’s the only way I can live with it, the only way I can open my mouth without screaming.”

A moment of quiet settled over them.

“Maybe you can’t have her back,” Derek said, his quiet voice breaking the silence. “But that doesn’t mean she isn’t here with you.”

A soft smile played across Stiles’ lips.

“I’ve got to get going,” his dad said, leaning over the back of the couch to tousle Stiles’ unruly hair. “You boys be good. There’s food in the cupboard, and I’m pretty sure Stiles has the pizza shop’s number memorised.”

Stiles grinned.

“Bye, Dad,” he called after him. “Love you.”

“Love you too, kiddo,” his dad said.

Stiles heard him pull the door shut, leaving him and Derek to their quiet conversations and painting. Time seemed to drift away as they worked—Derek painted the leaves and Stiles waited for them to dry before filling in the details of flowers.

Before they knew it, it was dark.

Derek ordered them pizza, ignoring Stiles’ protests when he insisted on paying.

After they ate, they set up a movie and brought out the snacks— _Star Wars_ , Stiles’ choice. Stiles picked at the food, listening to the movie he’d watch a thousand times as he finished painting the prosthetic.

He set the brush down and sat back against the couch, tilting his head slightly.

“It’s missing something,” Stiles said, looking down at the leg.

They sat there in silence for a moment.

Stiles picked up another brush, dipping it into the white paint. He drew on the shapes of a few scattered white butterflies before filling in the details of grey shading, black dots on their forewings, and black along the edges of their wings.

“My mum loved cabbage moths,” Stiles explained. “She always thought they were so cute and small.”

A smile crept across Derek’s lips as he looked at Stiles.

Stiles started to pack up the paints and clear away the brushes and cups of water.

Derek pulled sealant from his bag and set it next to the leg; they’d have to wait until tomorrow before they could apply it.

They settled down on the couch and watched the rest of the movie, Derek slouched back against the armrest with Stiles’ leg stretched over his lap. The teen held the bowl of chips in his lap, his dark brown eyes sparkling as they reflected the light of the TV screen.

“Hey, Derek,” he said after a moment.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Derek smiled at him. “Any time.”

**Author's Note:**

> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


End file.
